Fudge Pop
by Indie Tangles
Summary: Quinn looked guiltily down at her hands, which, indeed, both contained a fudge pop. Puck immediately regretted asking when she dissolved into hot tears. "They're just so tiny," she gasped, sniffling. More Quinn/Fudge Pop than anything, with some Puck.


**Just a little one-shot while I figure out what to do with Popular. :) Enjoy. (Of course I don't own, blah blah.)**

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"One serving just isn't cutting it anymore, huh, Preggers?"

Quinn looked guiltily down at her hands, which, indeed, both contained a fudge pop.

Puck immediately regretted asking when she dissolved into hot tears. "They're just so _tiny_," she gasped, sniffling.

He shifted uneasily, because she was _crying, _but also he had to flex every muscle in his torso to stifle the laugher that wanted to burst free.

"Easy, killer," and though about how easy it would be to slip out of her passenger seat and walk to his truck. Go home. It wasn't like there were any doubts over the issue of how much his presence was wanted here. Quinn hadn't been ambiguous. He wasn't even sure why he'd climbed into her car after glee.

She wanted to do this on her own.

Except ... somewhere inside of her was his little tadpole spawn, (maybe demanding a fudge pop of her own, who knew?) and he couldn't bring himself to open the door. "Hey," he said, awkwardly, but he was _here, _and didn't that count for anything? "It's okay. Those things are tiny. I notice it all the time. I'm always telling people ... anyways, you've probably earned both of them; we_ won_."

"It's not the fudge pop," she said wetly, gasping for air. And then it hits him.

"You were staying with Finn, weren't you?"

Quinn just looked at him all miserably for a few beats until she swiped at her eyes with her wrist.

"And you met his freakishly nice mom." It wasn't a question. He knew that within five minutes of talking to her, just _standing next to her, _she can make him feel like a shmuck. (His mom can't even make him feel bad that fast.)

"It must be genetic," she mumbled, resting her face against her steering wheel, and putting the fudge pop she'd already opened into her mouth. After a few seconds she reluctantly offered the paper-wrapped ice cream in her left hand towards him, but, he suspected it was only for him to hold because of the awkward way she'd positioned herself.

And she _would_ mention genes. He almost wanted to hit something. Or have Rachel explain that his daughter probably hadn't inherited a "jerk gene" because he doubted Quinn would trust biology facts coming from him.

And of course she'd want to pretend the kid had Finn's genes; big stupid Finn with his dopey kindness: girls didn't even seem to mind that the kid was practically brain damaged. _He_ doesn't even mind that Finn's practically brain damaged. (He knows he's screwed up. He misses his best friend already, and it's only been a day.)

"Do you," he swallowed, as she cried and attacked her ice cream like she was doing her part for the war effort, "need a place to stay?"

Quinn takes a moment to compose herself, (and by _compose herself_, Puck means _suck all remaining chocolate off of her popsicle stick_) and tosses the stick and wrapper out the window. "Noah Puckerman," she says firmly, her eyes going steely. "No."

Puck felt like the wind had been knocked out of him, and he reacted before he had a chance to _think_ the only way he knows how to keep himself from crying like some kind of girl. "No? Your pretend baby-daddy knows you _lied _to him about _my baby, _and you're still going to put your eggs in his basket? You think he'll even let you in the house to get your bags?"

He practically hisses the words, but Quinn doesn't start crying again, like he expected. (And dreaded, and a little bit, hatefully, hoped for.)

"No, Puck," she spits back, eyes glinting like a ray of sunshine off a butcher's knife, "my eggs have been moved into _the Hummel's _basket."

Puck is so surprised he doesn't have anything cruel to say back. "Seriously?"

"I don't want to give the wrong idea," she said. "To Finn," in case that wasn't _abundantly clear. _

"Of course," he said, trying to pretend his throat didn't suddenly feel like he'd swallowed glass.

She snaked one hand towards his lap, and he almost cussed in surprise, because _seriously? What the hell was her deal? _and then he realized that she was reaching for fudge pop round two, and almost cussed her out again in surpirse because _serious what was her deal?_

She grabbed his hand instead.

"Thank you," she said, and he almost cussed in surprise (because ... ect). "You're not a Lima Loser. What I told you -- about ... that night? I mean, I was drunk and I did feel like you took advantage of me, but then I thought about it and I," (deep breath) "realized that you were also supremely drunk, and I maybe kissed you first and," (three deep breaths) "I am extremely attractive, especially if your tastes include cheerleaders with perfect bodies, which yours obviously do, and I can hardly blame you for not mustering the presence of mind to push me away."

Puck blinked. That was the most she'd spoken to him since the night of Matt's party. Almost everything she'd said since then had been along the lines of _go away, don't look at me, it's my baby, I love Finn, I don't need your money, _ad nauseam.

"Uh, thanks, Q," he said, because what else could he say?

"I'm not finished, but you're welcome. Anyways, I ... maybe am carrying your baby, and I can't -- I _can't, Puck -- _start a family with you, or keep this baby, I thought we should be civil ... I don't want the Driz to be getting bad vibes and try to launch herself out of the escape hatch."

"The _who?_" he smirked.

"The D... _the baby._ That's what I said the first time."

Puck wasn't about to push it.

... Except, who was Puck if not a pusher. "_I _think it's a beautiful name. Very traditional."

Then, Puck had a moment of sobriety, and imagined her taking back everything she'd just said. "Just kidding!" he backpedaled quickly, and then employed a tactic he often used for his baby sister: "Look! A fudge pop! How did that get there!?" He thrust it at her with his free hand.

"I've already had one," Quinn said coyly. Who did she think she was kidding? That she'd bought _two _from the vending maching, and planned on _saving the other one for later? _

"They're so small," he said, smiling despite himself. "Practically newborn."

"That is true," Quinn agreed, smiling back, and he knew this didn't change anything, and he was still paying sidekick to his golden boy of an ex-best friend, and that all of the women in his life would always choose him (hell, even his mom and his sister probably wished he was Finn Puckerman, which, come to think of it, would open the door to a jillion hilarious Puck Finn jokes -- why had he never _thought _of that before, jeez.) but ... but now he had a daughter, and people knew that. Would know that.

"But, I really shouldn't. You showed up just in time to remind me of that; I'm going to be fat enough as it--" Quinn stopped suddenly, one hand going to her stomach. "Oh."

"Are you okay?"

Quinn got this strange look in her eyes, and took the hand she was holding and pressed it against her stomach. "Do you ... you feel that?"

If Puck wasn't suddenly paralyzed, he might have smiled.

"I think the Driz just gave me a high five." He leaned in close to Quinn's stomach. "I bed you're such a bad--"

"-- Puck! Do not curse at my unborn child!"

Puck rephrased. "You probably already have a mohawk," he murmured, because they were practically the same thing.

Quinn huffed. "Just give me my fudge pop, Puckerman."

Fudge pop round two disappeared pretty quickly, and Puck just kept looking at her, one hand on her curved stomach, smirking partly in response to that, but mostly out of genuine happiness (he'd fallen out of the habit of real smiling, but this was a happy smirk, so it probably looked something like one) until she was done.

"That one was for _your baby,_" she sniffed, delicately, like she was still the ice queen of the Cheerios, and not someone he'd just seen devour chocolate ice cream on a stick. "She's a very demanding diva."

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**Just FYI _dresses without sleeves, _who is amazing when it comes to Puck -- I consider her work canon ;) -- has him use "easy, killer" quite a bit.**


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